Before I start today's post, I'd like to share a few more startling revelations that I've had over the past 24 hours. I hope you appreciate how some of these have left me completely astounded, and for at least one of them, all I could do for five minutes was sit on my bead, repeating every possible inflection of the phrase of "Oh, my gosh!" that I could think of.
This is why other people can wear sweaters. Heck, this is why other people can wear long sleeves at all. Last winter, I'd finally had enough and bought half a dozen long sleeve shirts, and wore them every day for months, until I finally, finally got used to it. But I never got why other people had so many different kinds of clothes. My sister loves sweaters. She knits them herself. Even though she hates the cold, winter is her favorite time of year, because she finally gets to bring out the thick stuff. But I'm so uncomfortable. The yarn is scratchy, and I can't take it off all day, because then my hair will get messed up. So I'm stuck in scratchy, thick, stiff, hot clothes all day, the sweat and heat building up, until I can't think of anything else. My sister, who I strongly believe is autistic also, can't understand why I wouldn't love everything about sweaters, and if I bring it up, she acts like I'm crazy. No, dear, apparently I'm not. But I'm glad to know the rest of the world isn't insane, either. There are just too many miserable and horrifying things people do for beauty. I'm just glad to know it isn't quite as bad as I thought!
This is why women can cross their legs all the time. I know, this is a weird one, and it's not something I've even thought about for years. But I remember, when I was a kid, watching what all the mature, adult women were doing at church. They were all crossing their legs. Without moving. For the entire service. I decided that this was exactly what I was supposed to be doing, so I would cross my legs too. But there was no way that I could do it. It really hurt, having all that pressure on my knee and the skin between it. I couldn't understand why they could do it, and I couldn't. So, I would sit there, for longer and longer, waiting until I really, really had to change position. Now that I'm all grown up, and have been practicing every Sunday since I was six, I can sit with my legs crossed for the whole service. Sometimes I don't have to change position for a whole half hour, and, as a plus, I get to bob my leg to my heart's content. It's a great way to get the tics out.
This is why people doodle in class. I remember watching other kids drawing in their notes while they're in class. And I thought "hey, I love to draw. I want to try it!" I did it once. It was horrible. I had no idea what the teacher was saying for the entire class, and all I had to show for it was some crappy little drawings on lined paper. You see, I've learned that not only is it possible for other people to do more than one thing at a time, for some, it's necessary. For instance, other people can't sit down and put all of their thought processes into one thing, and one thing only. I am not other people. I once watched water boil, from start to finish, and I was fascinated. I'm not kidding. Sometimes, I get so focused, I forget to breath. And it's not entirely uncommon for me to start drooling (although I haven't done it in a long, long time. You learn to split your focus when necessary, and other kids a cruel about things like that). So, for someone like me, who processes information by shutting out anything and everything else, doodling in class is not only pointless and distracting, it actually makes me completely miserable, because obsessively focusing on something makes autistic kids happy.
Anyway, let's talk about socialization for the autistic person (or what it's like for me, anyway). To help explain what it means to me, I'm going to replace the word "socializing" for the more appropriate phrase, "knife juggling."
I've been trying to learn how to juggle knives my whole life. I've watched other people juggling all around me, in all kinds of situations, because they're bored, because they need something done, or they need information, because they like to share the activity of juggling with people they like. For some people, like my little sister, the little social butterfly that she is, going a day without juggling knives makes them anxious, depressed, even physically ill. They throw out a knife here or there, wherever they go. A lot of people don't seem to mind who they're juggling with, or whether or not that person actually wants to be juggling with them at the moment. They just start throwing, and the other person is forced to catch it and throw it back.
I don't use my own knives very often. Mine are strange, and people don't like strange things. Most of what I throw is something I got from someone else, or from a book or a movie. Sometimes I wonder if I have any of my own knives at all, or if all of them are something stolen. This is very sad to me. But I spent so long, hiding all of my knives that didn't look like other people's, that many were lost, or re-configured. Now that I know why my knives are different than other people's, I hope to be able to throw them with more confidence, at more people. It's tiring, looking for knives that I have that I think other people would like to catch. That's another reason why I don't throw them as much. It seems like everyone else just throws their knives willy-nilly, not caring how or if other people with take them, which is completely alien to me. I guess there's a lot more to juggling than I understand right now. But I hope I'll pick up enough tricks along the way.
I'm not saying I don't like juggling knives. In fact, it's pretty fun and exciting, not to mention extremely helpful sometimes. But I'm not all that coordinated, and I haven't learned many tricks. I'm a lot better at it now, because I've been practicing and studying for years, but it seems as though everyone else in the world takes knife juggling for granted. When I was a child, I had no idea how to do it, but everyone else already juggled with ease, laughing and giggling as they tossed their knives higher and higher in the air. Nobody sat me down and told me things like "Here are the rules to juggling. Here's what you've got to look out for. Here are some tricks you should try." So, I had to figure it out by trial and error. Unfortunately, when you're dealing with knives, error can be pretty scary, so a lot of times I didn't try. I just watched closely, analyzing trying to figure how how to do it. But you can't learn how to juggle just by watching. You can only really get good at it by doing it. I remember when I was a kid, watching my mom juggle with a couple other moms. I knew where a knife was, and where it had been, but I couldn't tell where it was going to be, so every time I tried to catch one to throw it back, I would wait too long, or fumble, missing my chance. So I would go back to watching, trying to figure out the pattern, and what my part in it was. That happened a lot growing up.
See, here is one big problem with juggling. A lot of people seem to think that it's a great idea to juggle with a whole bunch of people at the same time. Knives are flying everywhere, from all directions, and I don't know who's supposed to go next, or when I'm allowed to throw what I have. It's exhausting, trying to keep up with all of those knives at the same time. I'll catch one, here or there, but I often won't throw it, because nobody will tell me when it's my turn, and I am not about to jump in the middle of the fray to find out. When you jump in, either people will stop throwing and stare at you (which is nerve-wracking), or else nobody noticed you were trying to throw something, and your knife falls flat on the floor. Do you get on your knees, pick it up, and try throwing it again? Well, that's embarrassing, and usually by the time you get the guts to try and throw it again, everybody's on to another kind of knife, so yours is useless. I realize now that there isn't actually any turn taking in juggling. People just magically go with it, jumping in whenever they feel like it, catching random trick-shots, and letting others fall to the floor unnoticed. It seems like people don't mind when their knife falls to the ground, because they just keep going. That's a mark of a good juggler. They don't tell anyone they messed up, they ignore the knife on the floor. But I don't know how to do that yet. When I drop mine, I tend to freeze up, not knowing what to do, or how to fix my mistake. I'm getting better about recovering fumbles, but it's still hard. I rarely throw more than two or three knives when there's juggling going on with more than one other person.
Now, as for juggling with strangers, that's always been really tricky. If you don't know someone, then you don't know their style, or what kind of knives, or how many they have. You don't really know if they even feel like juggling at the moment, or even ever, but you can't just walk up to them and ask them if they want to juggle with you, because that's weird and nobody does that. Everyone else just throws a knife, and waits to see if they throw it back. It's terrifying, wondering if you might miss or they might miss, and somebody gets hurt, or maybe they didn't notice you threw a knife in the first place, so you're not sure if you should throw another one or not. Or maybe they just ignored the knife, because they don't feel like juggling. I remember watching my mom, in the grocery store, walking down the street, at church, wherever she was, she was constantly throwing knives. And she threw them so fast, not really caring who caught them. And just like that, she was juggling with some random person that she had never met before, and never would meet again. She was learning their style and tricks, risking injury every time. I had no idea why should would put that much effort and energy into such a dangerous, and possibly fruitless endeavor. I was amazed at her skill and bravery, but at the same time, I was terrified that someone would randomly toss a knife my way without warning or provocation.
Let me talk about juggling over the phone. Juggling over the phone shouldn't be all that different than regular juggling, and yet, it's a lot harder. Because you're doing it blindfolded. Have you ever juggled knives blindfolded? You don't know where exactly to throw the knife. You don't know where exactly it's coming from. It's a lot harder to tell the mood of the person you're throwing it to, and that's scary, not knowing if the other juggler is happy, or sad, or angry, not getting a chance to get the flow of the flying objects or see where they're going. I suppose if you're a really natural juggler, you juggle blindfolded all the time. But it's still a little baffling to me. When you're juggling over the phone, you have no idea if the other person is going to be there (if you're the one starting it). If they throw a knife at you while you're minding your own business at home or in your car, it's terribly alarming, and it takes a really long time to adjust and fall into a regular pattern. I mean, really. It takes a minute to work up to a decent juggling session, and if someone you can't even see just attacks you out of no where, it's disturbing and confusing. Usually, by the time I turn on the juggling part of my brain and remember what I've learned about it, the other person is done and they hang up.
One of the biggest, most important lessons I've learned about juggling is that people don't like juggling with an inexperienced juggler. I mean, seriously, can you imagine tossing a knife back and forth with a person who looks like they're going to pass out from fear? I know everybody's afraid of getting cut, but if the other person is shaking, you're not going to throw knives at them, for fear of having them pee their pants, or just stand there as it stabs them in the chest. Plus, if you realize that they don't actually know how to aim, your best bet is probably to get as far away from them as possible.
So, you fake it. You pretend like you've done this constantly since before you could walk, and that it's so easy you can do it without even thinking. If your tosses are light and confident, then theirs will be too. Because sometimes, when people are wary or cautious, they throw weird, and then it makes the whole thing just that much harder.
Now, my biggest concern in juggling isn't juggling itself anymore. I was forced to juggle at school and work every day for a long time, so I've got some experience under my belt. I even have some programmed reactions that come more or less naturally, which I'm pretty proud of. When I've been practicing, I can even throw in tricks here and there. It's pretty fun, when you've got the hang of it.
But there are still some things I don't know how to do. Like start juggling. Or stop. I realize that no one is psychic, but growing up, I thought that people somehow magically knew whether or not someone wanted to juggle with someone else. Like they send off a signal, saying "please throw knives at me". And maybe they do, but if there is such a signal, it's completely invisible to me. So, mostly I just wait for someone to throw me something, and I try to figure out how to keep it going. Once we get started, I start picking up on what kinds of knives I should use, based on what knives they use. And I usually mimic their throwing style to the best of my ability--not so much to make them think I'm making fun of them, just enough to keep them comfortable. Sometimes I'm brave enough to throw a knife at a random person. I've got a couple of really blunt, really small ones I've picked up over the years, that are pretty good for starting things up, and that people won't get hurt if I throw it wrong, or they don't feel like juggling. Sometimes, just by watching them, you can pick up a few knives they've used themselves, which can go really well (if it's the right knife. Sometimes, though, people want to forget about some of them, and they won't like you throwing it back to them).
But I haven't learned any good tricks for stopping juggling. If you just stop, it freaks people out, and they're less likely to start with you on another occasion. You need special moves to stop the exchange, and, though I know what some are, I still don't know how to use them. With a lot of people, once you start juggling, they won't want to stop. It's one of the hazards of getting semi-decent at juggling. Now, the only way I know how to stop a juggling match, is by having something I need to go do. Not want, but need. It's usually someone else wanting me to do something. Either that, or a previous engagement. But if all I wanted was to stop juggling, and I didn't actually have anything specifically scheduled later, or nobody's asking me to leave them, then I'm out of luck. Nobody wants to hear "I don't want to juggle because I'm tired of juggling." I've never in my life heard somebody say that. I mean, I have heard people not wanting to juggle because they're busy, or upset or something. But you're not allowed to not like juggling. Everybody likes juggling. If you don't like juggling with a person, then you must not like that person, and you never, ever want to juggle with them. Ever. That's the obvious conclusion that everyone makes, and, unfortunately, it's not always right. Sometimes, I'm out of knives, I'm out of tricks, my arms are tired, and I just want to rest. But that's not a good enough excuse to stop juggling. So, I just wait, hoping they'll get tired, too. I catch the knives, but I don't throw them back as much or as enthusiastically. Maybe they'll just get the hint, that I'm not really in the juggling mood anymore, even though I was, ten, twenty minutes earlier.
Sometimes I've been caught juggling for hours, because no one would rescue me, and the other person didn't notice that I ran out of knives. That's a pretty unfortunately and exhausting situation to be in. Every once in a while, someone throws knives aggressively, and when I try to back away as respectfully as possible, but they follow me wherever I go. I try to hide from those people, because you always have to throw knives back when people throw them to you. It's rude not to, and I don't want to be rude, even though I don't particularly like their juggling style.
It's taken me a long time to develop the skills I have now, and I'm still far behind everyone else. Sometimes I don't mind. People don't notice my mistakes as often as I do, and that's great. Other times, I feel afraid, and hold myself back, even though I've done the same kind of juggling for years. It's a process, and I'm learning. Right now, I'm trying to decide which jugglers I should tell about my autism, and about how, despite the fact that I'm getting really good at faking it, I'm actually not that great at juggling. Maybe I should tell no one but those closest to me. Yesterday, I actually managed to say, out loud, with three or four other people in the room, that I found out I'm autistic. I didn't get the guts to explain what that means to me, or to them, or even really what it is, but I said it. I'm never sure how people react when I tell them about myself. They didn't say anything about it, but I wondered what they were thinking. I know, before I actually sat down and read about it, that I always thought an autistic person was someone who didn't talk and sat rocking in a corner somewhere. I honestly thought that maybe they had simple thoughts, and that's why they had simple needs and simple conversations. I didn't know anything about what it was, or what it was like in their--our--heads. I wish I had asked someone a long time ago. If I had known, life would have been easier. But now I know what it is. Autism is a normal person, with a normal brain, who is either extra sensitive, or extra not-sensitive. Autism is a person who likes consistency and dependability in this crazy and confusing world. Autism is a person who may or may not be smarter than other people, but who can use their brain more efficiently than "normal" people do.
And, most of all, autism is me. And I'm still giddy about it.
Penny
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